Why Didn't You Come Back To Me?
by PoeticallyPathetic19
Summary: Wincest warning. Something's wrong with Dean, and Sam can't figure it out, or why Dean isn't talking. Originally: I Never Needed Anything, Anything But This Tonight I Needed You To Tell Me What Was Wrong
1. Chapter 1

-Note- This is kind of random, but I found this old story as well and at the advice of my friend, I've decided to post it. That and my weekend vaca will keep me away from you lovely people. So here it is! Hope you enjoy! Oh, and fair warning...this one is majorly angsty.The title is from Cartel's Fiend. Great song and totally goes with the story! -Note-

Sam stood up and made his way quietly towards his brother's bed. He could tell by Dean's tense form that he didn't want anything to do with anyone right now, but he couldn't seem to stop his feet.

Dean had been acting strange for month now, since they'd moved here really. Their first steady home in almost two years, but Dean seemed less then pleased about this. He'd been more moody then ever and constantly on Sam.

He was lucky if he could get to the damn bathroom without his brother hovering close by. Dean, of course, wouldn't explain himself. He'd shrug it off with a joke or an annoyed, _get over yourself Sam._ Why would Dean explain himself when he could be an ass?

It just wouldn't be his brother.

And it just wouldn't be Sam if he didn't push, at least a little.

"Dean?" Sam asked, placing a small hand on his back. "Are you okay?"

His brother's silence scared him. The worry that had been building over the past few months thick enough to choke on. He moved closer; if Dean didn't answer him soon he was going to be sorry, because Sam was _not _going to let this go. He'd climb into Dean's bed and refuse to leave until he told him what was wrong.

xXx

Dean shifted, "I'm fine, Sam. Just go to sleep," he mumbled.

He didn't have the energy to get up and remove his clothes again. He was drained emotionally and physically. But if Sam kept it up he was going to have to drag up some strength to at least get the thirteen year old back into his own bed and sound asleep. It was too late for him to be up, even if there was no school the next day.

"You're trembling," Sam pointed out.

Dean opened his eyes, letting them adjust to the dark. Was he? He hadn't noticed it before. But now as Sam moved even closer, his hand gripping his shirt tightly, he realized that his brother was right. He _was_ trembling.

"I'm fine, Sammy." He hoped using his brother's pet name would reassure him that he was telling the truth, or at least as much truth as he could manage.

No such luck. Sam was as stubborn as he was, sometimes even more. There was no getting out of it if Sam wanted to talk about it.

"Dean, what happened?" he pleaded.

He sighed and wearily pushed himself up into a half sitting position, rolling over to prop his sore body against the headboard. Without waiting for invitation Sam climbed onto the bed and between his brother's outstretched legs, sitting back on his heels and staring expectantly back at Dean.

Dean tried not to wince at his puppy dog eyes and the fact that his brother was sitting in a place he really didn't need to be reminded of right now. Or ever again.

"Nothing happened. Everything's fine Sam. You just stay in here like I tell you to. Stay out of sight, remember?"

xXx

Sam rolled his eyes. Of course he remembered. Dean told him the same thing night after night, before tucking him into bed. And then, when Sam woke up in the middle of the night from a nightmare or some phantom pain, he would find his brother gone, or stumbling as quietly as possible into their darkened bedroom with no explanation.

Sometimes he noticed Sam and he'd tuck him in again, with a weary smile and a _Night Sammy. _Other times he didn't notice or he just pretended not to. Throwing himself down onto his own bed and burying his face beneath the pillow. His body trembling. Always trembling.

Sam wasn't stupid. He knew that Dean was hurting and knew that it was probably for the good of their family. Or, at least in Dean's mind, it was for the good of their family.

"Dean, are you…" He couldn't bring himself to say it. It sounded so wrong, even in his head.

"What is it, Sam?"

He shook his head. Dean wouldn't do something so desperate, would he? Things weren't that bad around here. They'd been stable enough to actually stay in one place for months at a time. And Dad was going on fewer hunts and fewer hunts, at least ones that took him far from home.

Unless Dad knew…

No. Even Dad wouldn't let Dean do something so stupid, so desperate and wrong. He may not have been the greatest father, but he loved his sons. If not Sam, he loved Dean. Too much to let him do something like…

_No, _he thought vehemently. Dean wouldn't do that. He couldn't.

"Sam?" Dean asked worriedly. "You okay?

"I'm fine," he said hoarsely. "I'm worried about you, that's all."

"There's nothing to worry about, Sam. I'm fine." Dean promised.

"You're not…" Dammit, why couldn't he say it?

Why couldn't he just ask Dean if he was having sex for money?

xXx

"What's up with you, huh? You were fine two seconds ago."

"We aren't talking about me. We're talking about you."

"No, I'm pretty sure we were talking about you," Dean said, nodding his head slowly. "Yeah, definitely you kiddo."

"There's nothing wrong with me, so we can't be talking about me," Sam argued. "We were talking about you and what you've been keeping from me for the past three months."

Dean feigned a hurt a look. "Sammy, I haven't been keeping anything from you. I wouldn't lie to you, you know that."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Don't play me," he said impatiently. "Something's going on."

"Sam," Dean sighed, returning Sam's impatience. He really wasn't in the mood for this. He wasn't going to tell Sam anything, no matter how much he pushed, so he might as well drop it.

"Dean, please," Sam's voice switched to pleading. "Why can't you just tell me what's going on with you? You've always told me everything before. You can't just keep lying to me, I want to help!"

A pang of guilt struck Dean hard. He hadn't realized how much he was worrying Sam. This was the first time he'd brought it up, so he'd just assumed that Sam was annoyed with him. Not worried or scared.

There was nothing for him to be worried or scared about. Dean was taking care of things and that was all he needed to know. That was all he ever needed to know.

xXx

Sam launched himself at Dean, before he'd thought things through. Like he couldn't come out and ask Dean if he was having sex for money, he couldn't explain to his brother how it tore him apart to think of him that way.

They weren't so bad off that Dean had to do something like that. And even if they were, Sam could help out somehow. It shouldn't ever come to this. If Dad knew, if he _did _know…

Why couldn't Dean just tell him? If he was too ashamed of what he was doing to tell Sam, then he shouldn't be doing it. Dean knew that Sam loved him, would never judge him or think any less of him. For him to not to say anything about what was happening to him was a slap in the face.

He could feel his eyes tearing up and he buried his face in Dean's chest. Things would only get worse if Dean saw him cry. The hugging and clinging, Dean could put up with that to an extent. Tears would mean pushing and demanding, and then Sam would have no choice but to ask Dean what he was too scared to know for sure.

"Sammy?" Dean sighed, hesitantly putting his arms around him. "What's gotten into you, you girl?"

Sam managed a laugh and shook his head. Even now Dean couldn't be completely serious about this.

"I'm worried about my brother, I'm sorry if you don't get that."

"There's nothing to be worried _about. _That's my job anyway. _I'm _the older brother, I'm sorry if you don't get _that_."

Sam snorted. "Like that's going to keep me from worrying about you. Maybe if you paid more attention to what you were doing, instead of looking at girls all the time I wouldn't have to."

"Hey!" Dean cried, thumping him on the back of the head. "I know what I'm doing. Ask any girl."

"Dean," Sam groaned. "I didn't need to hear that."

He laughed. "It shut you up, so maybe you did need to hear it."

Sam shook his head and slid his arms around Dean's neck. There was no getting through to him sometimes, and now was one of those times.

"I love you," Sam murmured, sleepily. He didn't care if Dean wanted to hear it or not, he was going to hear it. Every God damn day, until he knew that this was over. Maybe not even that would stop him from saying it.

If that was all Dean needed to hear to keep him from selling himself, Sam could do that. It wasn't like he didn't love his brother, or didn't want to tell him that. He just didn't want his ass handed to him on a daily basis.

He even liked having his brother talk to him.

Sometimes.

Chick flick moments were a sure way to end that. Well, the talking part, not the mocking. The mocking would always be there. That was like asking Dean not to breathe.

xXx

Dean stared down at his brother, dumbfounded. What the hell had gotten into Sam? It wasn't unusual for him to push things, or even climb into bed with Dean. But he didn't suddenly switch gears and throw himself into Dean, burying his face into his chest and clutching his shirt desperately.

He didn't start to cry and try and hide it then. If Sam was crying, Dean knew it because it was usually his fault, and his job to fix things.

He did say he loved Dean, but normally he was high on painkillers or had just gone through something that had shaken him to his core. It wasn't a random, impulsive utterance. Something was wrong and Sam wasn't sharing.

Dean combed his fingers through Sam's hair, letting his body relax beneath him. He was okay with not talking, not talking was good when it came to Sam and emotions. Things got too heated and he always wound up hurting Sam, or Sam wound up hurting him which in turn had him hurting Sam. One way or another Sam got hurt and Dean had to find a way to make things better.

Emotions were not his things. Talking was not his thing.

Physical was. He could handle this.

Soon Sam's breathing evened out, but his grip never relaxed on Dean, nor Dean's on him. He felt his eyes grow heavy, sleep tugging at him for the first time in months. He smiled bitterly at that thought. What had kept him up was the need to protect Sam, and all it took for him to finally find some peace, was to have his brother here in his arms. He drifted to sleep, cursing himself for his idiocy and his overwhelming commitment to his brother.


	2. Chapter 2

-Note- This one is for my girlie, Nikki. :) She said this was her fav, so here's the loooong overdue chapter! And of course, all thanks and love go out to Miss Cinnamon. My 'muse in a mask' is made of awesome. -Note-

Sam kicked his backpack to the side. Tonight's homework was simple and he could do it later when Dean was out and he needed a distraction, or tomorrow morning before class. He had a lot of time to kill then- he had a lot of time to kill now too.

Glancing around the empty room he almost wished that he had more homework tonight, to give him something to keep his mind off things and out of Dad's way. Or Dean's. Between the two of them Sam was surprised he had any semblance of sanity left in him.

His eyes landed on Dean's favorite flannel shirt, crumpled in a ball next to his jacket. Sam's stomach twisted at the memory of how it gotten there. How most of Dean's shirts got there.

Dean had been wearing it last night when he left, with a half hearted wink and grin at Sam like always. Halfhearted, like everything else he'd done the past two years. Sam hadn't thought much of it then, he hadn't let himself. He knew where Dean was going, knew what he was doing and he was too damn scared to bring it up. A few hours later, Sam half asleep, Dean barged into their room noisier than usual and ripped the shirt off. He threw it angrily into the corner where it was now, eyes were wide and red rimmed, jaw clenched so tightly it made Sam's own jaw ache.

He hadn't said a damn word to Sam, despite every attempt he made to find out what was wrong. Dean just shook his head and looked away; wouldn't meet Sam's eyes or answer any of his questions. He hadn't met Sam's eyes in nearly two years, since that first night Sam had climbed into bed with him, and Sam seriously doubted he ever would again.

Dean shrugged him off and climbed into his own bed, back to Sam, and like always Sam climbed in right behind him, hesitant hand resting against his back. It was all Sam could do, all he knew to do. He was the younger brother, he wasn't used to having to comfort Dean. That had always been Dean's role. He was too scared to do much else. If he pushed too hard there was no telling how Dean would react, he might leave again and do exactly what was forcing them apart and binding them so tightly together now: fear, family, loyalty, love.

Two years they'd been this way. Two years, Sam had been trying to talk to Dean, to confront him about what he knew Dean was doing. He wasn't ashamed of Dean, he was just angry and worried. Angry because he should have stopped Dean, because Dad should have stopped this, because Dean should never have had to resort to selling himself. Not for him or their family, not for anyone or anything. But Dean was selling himself and it worried Sam. He knew how strong his brother was, knew that he could defend himself against anyone and just about anything, but it didn't keep him from worrying that somewhere along the way he might make a mistake. Misjudge something or someone and get himself hurt- maybe killed. Unlikely as it was that Dean would ever misjudge or trust anyone outside of his family, it still kept him up at night.

Sam tore his eyes from the shirt and to the window, biting back a sob. How could he have let this go on for two years? How could he have kept quiet all this time? So what if he was scared. Dean had to be scared every night he left the apartment, every night he came home was a struggle to keep his sanity. Or at least his silence.

Sam could see him breaking every day. Last night had only reinforced that. Dean usually snuck in, kept his anger as quiet as possible to avoid waking Sam. It never worked, but that wasn't because Dean wasn't quiet enough. It was because Sam was so attuned to Dean that the second he entered their room Sam knew. Just like Sam knew that Dean needed someone, some kind of comforting or reassuring touch when he came home at night. His own fear shouldn't have stopped him from protecting his brother and he was ashamed of himself for letting it go on this long.

A crashing sound, like glass breaking in the kitchen startled him out of his thoughts. It was kind of early for anyone else to be home. Dean had stopped picking him up from school a few weeks ago, a sign of how far apart they'd grown, and Dad was never home until close to dinner.

Soft swearing reached his ears and he breathed a sigh of relief. It was Dean, not Dad. Dean had been hard to be around, but Dad was worse. Every time he saw Dad he wanted to yell at him, wanted to reach out and shake him. Demand to know how he couldn't see Dean's suffering, to know why he hadn't stopped things before they got this far. It didn't help that Dad had been unbearable the past few months either. Snapping at him, at Dean, over everything.

His drinking binges weren't more frequent, but they were more severe. And Sam didn't like Dad's drinking any more than he did Dean's. In fact it scared the hell out of him. There was no controlling Dad's mouth or his fists sometimes. Dean was the same way, but Dad…there was just something more to it with him. Like it was everything he'd always wanted to do or say when he was sober, that he might do one day when he was sober. With Dean, Sam was always more afraid he'd hurt himself rather than someone else.

Straightening his spine Sam made his way into the kitchen in the hopes that something would break. The sour stench of beer filled his nostrils as he entered the room, making his eyes water. He hated beer, he hated alcohol period after seeing what it had done to his family or what it could do to them if someone didn't step in.

Dean was hunched over in front of the fridge, searching out a new beer seeing as how he'd dropped his last one, and didn't notice Sam at first. Sam steered clear of the still wet area and over to the kitchen counter, heart hammering in his chest. It had taken him two years to get to this point and he wasn't any braver than when he'd started. Just more afraid.

xXx

Dean groaned and stretched as he made his way up the steps to the apartment. He was still sore and worn down from last night, his body taking more abuse than it had in a long while. He almost wish he'd stayed in bed this morning, but then he couldn't have been out hustling or making more money to stash away. The way things were going he might need it. Or Sam.

He flicked the lock as he shut the door behind him and headed straight to the kitchen for a beer. He'd quit drinking at bars for the most part, saving what money he could by drinking at home. Dad always kept the fridge well stocked and there was no reason to waste money he might need sooner than he'd hoped.

Relief washed through him as eyes came to rest on the fridge. He jerked it open and let out an audible sigh of appreciation at the sight that greeted him. Beer. Ice cold beer. His fingers had just closed around cool glass when he felt something brush along his side. Startled he dropped the beer to find it was only the fridge door. Swearing at his stupidity and the loss of a much needed beer he reached around the side of the fridge and grabbed the broom. He'd come home needing a beer and instead he'd freaked himself the hell out and was left cleaning up the mess. Literally.

Dean quickly swept up the glass and wiped up the liquid, lamenting over the waste. When he was finally satisfied, or as satisfied as he could be considering the circumstances, with his clean up he ducked back into the fridge in search of a new beer. His fingers had just closed around a new bottle when fear swept through him once again. Today was just not his day.

He relaxed, sensing it was Sam entering the kitchen. Just Sam, he reminded himself.

Things had been getting worse between them the past two years and Dean was doing everything he could to stay as far and as close to Sam as possible. At night Sam was his comfort, though he'd never admit it and in the daylight Sam was his nightmare.

His need to protect Sam had torn them apart, made him want to leave the apartment the second he could and find the nearest bar. But that same need to protect kept him glued to Sam's side in the brief time that he was home.

Sam always looked at him like he just knew what was going on, going back and forth between disgust and pity. His mouth opening like he'd say something, like he'd finally bring it up and then he'd look away, close his mouth and clear his throat, make some lame attempt at small talk that Dean would simply grunt at and swallow his heart.

He'd finally stopped looking at Sam, or at least directly at Sam when he was looking back at Dean. He couldn't stand to see the war of emotions going on behind Sam's eyes, the indecision there. He'd rather go on ignoring things and having Sam's silence than risk his disgust.

It wasn't doing either of them any good for him to walk around acting like some damn guard dog though, snapping at everyone and drinking when he wasn't. Coming home like he did every night and scaring the hell out of Sam. He didn't have the strength to comfort Sam to even try and lie to him about what was going on. He had no way out, no plan, all he could do was keep playing the game and watch out for Sam. He'd figure things out eventually and when he did, maybe then he'd talk to Sam. Maybe then he wouldn't be such a coward and he could tell his brother everything.

"Are you ever going to talk to me?" Sam asked, leaning his hip against the counter. His question interrupting Dean's thoughts.

"About what?" Dean forced out, glancing up from the fridge, heart lodging in his throat at the sound of Sam's voice. All that indecision, all that back and forth, and he'd never expected Sam to bring it up.

Sam shook his head in disgust and gripped the counter. "It's been the same thing every night for two god damn years, Dean. I kept thinking that you'd just tell me if I stopped asking."

"Tell you what?" he replied, shutting the door slowly. He wasn't giving up any answers when he didn't know for sure what Sam was talking about or what he knew. Two years was a long time to keep this from his brother, but he wasn't ready to give it all up just yet.

"Don't play stupid, it's not you," Sam snapped. "Every night for two years, two years, I've slept in your bed thinking that if I got close enough to you, if I just…" Sam's head dropped and he shuffled his feet.

Dean watched him open and close his mouth helplessly, not even bothering to meet his eyes, a sight so familiar it made Dean's heart ache. Something must have connected for Sam, or pushed him, because the second Sam's name was out of Dean's mouth he was staring pleadingly at his brother once again.

"I just want to know why you're doing it, Dean. Why can't you find some other way to make money? You're worth more than that!"

Dean cocked his head to the side, worry turning to confusion. He didn't understand what Sam was so angry about, or what it was he was worth more than but Sam's words were making him warm all over. He was used to hushed whispers from giggling girls and the occasional straightforward comment about his mouth or his ass but never anything deeper than that. And it only meant more coming from a younger brother he felt like he continually disappointed.

"Man," Dean said earnestly. "I really don't know what you're talking about."

Sam turned sad eyes on him, his nostrils flaring and his jaw clenching. Obviously he didn't believe Dean. He still thought that Dean was keeping something from him and Dean wished to hell he knew what it was Sam wanted him to say.

"I'm talking about why you come home every night shaking, why half the time you won't even look at me. God dammit, Dean! Does Dad know about this? Were you ever going to tell me?"

"Sammy, I really don't know what you're talking about," Dean repeated, taking a step forward. "You want to clue me in here?" Things had started to make sense at first, until he'd asked about Dad. How could Dad not know? It wasn't possible, so Sam must be talking about something else.

Sam shook his head, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. "I really thought that you could trust me with anything."

"I do trust you. I trust you with my life every time we go on a hunt. What more proof do you need?"

"No," Sam argued. "You trust me with your body, Dean. There's a difference."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean," Dean demanded. He understood Sam's confusion and anger, but he didn't deserve Sam's accusations.

"It means," Sam answered in his most annoyed tone of voice. "I want to know what the hell is going on."

"So," Dean replied in the same voice. "do I!"

"God, dammit," Sam groaned.

"Just say it!" Dean cried in exasperation. He didn't know what Sam was talking about and if he kept going about it in circles Dean wasn't going to be held responsible for his actions. "Fucking clue me in here!"

"Fine," Sam snapped back. "Are you having sex for money?" he asked in a rush.

"What?" Dean gaped. Okay, he hadn't expected that one.

"Are you," Sam repeated but mumbled, his cheeks flushing pink. "having sex for money?"

"No, I'm not having sex for money! Sam, what the hell are you talking about?" Dean stared wide eyed at his younger brother. Dean had never had sex for money, would never even consider it for anything other than as a last, last resort.

Relief seemed to wash over Sam before his body went rigid and his gaze hard. "Then what's going on with you, Dean? Two years of you coming home like you do…" Sam shook his head.

"What's going on?"

"Shit, man...Sam…"

What was he supposed to say to his baby brother's questions? That he wasn't having sex for money, that what was happening to him on an almost daily basis, only happened because Dean let it, out of the fear that if he protested too much Sam would be next? He had to protect Sam. He couldn't let the same things happen to his younger brother.

That was why he'd been so on top of Sam the past two years or so. Since that night, it was all he could think about. Sam's still tiny body, at least until a few months ago, naked and flushed as he panted and jerked away from him, crying for him to stop. The tears rolling down soft pink cheeks and mouth twisted in pain. Sam was closing in on sixteen and he still had some of those baby features, the soft rounded cheeks and full mouth. His legs and arms just beginning to grow. He was still a baby to Dean.

If he was honest with himself, Sam probably always would be.

It was those images that kept him with Sam always; never letting up. Sometimes he found himself jumping on Sam about something stupid, like showering with the door open or not wearing pajama bottoms over his boxers when he went to sleep; things that shouldn't matter but did.

He could tell he was beginning to irritate his brother. The glaring and the flare of his nostrils as he huffed and slammed the door shut behind him. He was upset that Dean was treating him like a baby, or at least that's what Dean had assumed. Now he was beginning to see where Sam's mind had been all this time.

"I'm not," Dean swore. "I'm not doing what you think."

"I want you to stop," Sam pleaded, not hearing a word of Dean's protest. His mind was already made up. Dean wasn't sure if should be insulted or relieved that his brother had come to such a ridiculous conclusion. It was better than the alternative, he supposed.

xXx

How could Dean stand there and lie to him? Tell him that he wasn't out selling himself for money when that was the only thing that made sense. His brother came home shaking, sweating, and looking vaguely like a trapped animal. He wouldn't talk about it with Sam, wouldn't meet his eyes. He was so clearly hurting and so desperately trying to hide it. If he wasn't out prostituting, then why couldn't Dean just talk to him?

"I'm not," Dean insisted irritably. "I don't know how many times I have to say it, Sammy, but I'm not."

"Don't," Sam growled, his heart aching at Dean's words. "Don't stand there and lie to me and then call me Sammy like nothing's wrong, Dean! Something is going on with you and I want to know what it is! You've been a real pain to deal with for the past two years and I've finally got the god damn courage to bring things up and you won't even talk to me about it?"

Sam shoved a hand through his hair and sank back against the counter. He was dangerously close to losing control of his emotions, of demanding Dean talk to him, and making any threat needed to get him to do it. "Look," he finally said, taking a deep breath. "I know you hate this, I know that talking is like torture for you, but you better start doing some talking Dean, and fast, because I'm not going to keep playing these games."

"What games, Sam? What the hell are you talking about?" Dean asked, exasperated.

Obviously Dean wasn't going to make this easy on either of them the stubborn bastard.

"Two years, Dean," he reminded him again. "I've been playing these games for two years and I won't do it anymore. If Dad doesn't know what's going on, he will."

"Sam," Dean warned. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Then fill me in!" he yelled. "I'm giving you every chance to face up to things and you just keep dancing around the question. Start talking Dean, or you'll be talking to Dad. One way or another this is going to stop. I'm not going to let you keep hurting yourself. Especially not for us."

"I'm not doing what you think!" Dean argued.

Sam glared at Dean. How many times was he going to say that? If that wasn't what he was doing, then he needed to tell Sam what he was doing every night that sent him home scared to death.

Dean, his older brother who was afraid of almost nothing, came home every night scared as Sam had ever seen him and if it wasn't because of what Sam thought. But then what the hell was it that could scare him so badly?

"Then I guess you'll be explaining to Dad what it is you are doing," He sneered, Dean's face filling with panic. "Because my talking to you isn't going anywhere."

"You mean if he can find me," Dean corrected, the panic Sam had seen moments ago replaced with a familiar smirk.

Sam scowled. That wasn't fair. He couldn't threaten Sam when Sam was trying to help him! That was totally against the rules! "So what? You're saying that if I tell Dad you're hurting yourself you're going to run away? You? Dad's little soldier?" Sam snorted in disgust for the second time since they'd started this conversation.

Dean gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Dad's going to be upset one way or another, don't ya think?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed, nodding once. "But what about me?"

Uncertainty flickered across Dean's face before he got himself under control and raised one brow in question. Sam's heart gave a kick of joy. There. Now Dean was thinking. Either way Dad was upset with him, either way he felt he disappointed Dad. But what about Sam?

Sam wasn't disappointed in him. He just wanted to protect his brother. If he would just talk to him, or God, even Dad as much as it pained Sam to think Dean would choose Dad over him, then Sam would be satisfied. He'd only be upset with Dean if he left, he'd be hurt and scared for his brother, left alone with Dad. Having to fend for himself for the first time in sixteen years. Could Dean really walk away from him to keep his secret?

"What about you, Sam?" Dean asked, a hint of warning in his voice.

"You're going to leave me here with Dad? Alone? Because I want to protect you like you've always done for me?" Sam scoffed. Dean could put as much warning into his voice as he wanted, Sam wasn't backing down now. It had taken him two years to get to this point and he wasn't walking away from it. "That makes a lot of sense, Dean."

"Then let it drop," he demanded.

"I can't let it drop," Sam replied with absolute disgust. "How the hell do I let something like that drop?"

"Easy. How was school?" he asked, turning his back on Sam and popping open his beer.

"Fuck school," Sam snarled, startling them both.. "This is about you and whatever's been messing with your head for two years, man!"

Dean let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. "Sam," he warned. "Drop it."

"I'm not dropping anything." Sam crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, throwing his right foot over his left. He'd stay here all night with Dean if he had to. Right up until Dad came home and Sam spilled everything.

Dean didn't answer him, just took one long pull off his beer after another. The silence was starting to get to Sam, panic setting in. It felt like he'd hit a wall and he didn't know where to go from there. Dean was no help and Dad wasn't home. It was one stubborn brother against another. And neither of them was budging any time soon.

Sam sighed in resignation and pushed away from the counter. He was halfway through the kitchen door when he threw back over his shoulder, "Dad it is then."

He thought the conversation was over until he heard footsteps behind him. Joy and relief surged through him at the idea of Dean finally giving in and telling him what was going on. He could finally return a little of the love his brother had always given him. Even if it had taken this long to get there. Sam had half turned to confront Dean again when he felt himself being slammed back against the living room wall.

"You're not telling Dad anything!" his brother ordered.

Sam blinked and shook his head, the shock and impact knocking him off balance. "What?" he managed to gasp.

"You're not," Dean repeated slowly. "Telling Dad anything."

"Or what? You'll hit me?" Sam shot back, anger clouding his judgment. He was trying to protect Dean and the thanks he got was attitude, orders, and now physical attacks. Just how far was Dean willing to go to keep hurting himself? "Go ahead. That's just one more thing you're going to have to explain to Dad."

Dean's mouth twitched, his nostrils flaring as he took in Sam's truth. Dad would ask about the black eye, or bruise and if it had been over anything else Sam would have lied to protect Dean. Now though he'd jump at the chance to pin this on Dean.

"Then I'll leave," Dean concluded.

Sam's gut clenched. That would hurt more than any hit Dean could land. He swallowed hard and tried to slow down his beating heart. It wasn't logical. They weren't being rational. Dean couldn't just walk out on them. Not over this.

"We both know you won't leave," Sam hissed.

"And why's that?" he challenged. "I've got the Impala."

"Because what kind of brother would you be then?" Sam smirked triumphantly at the surprise flickering across his brother's face. "It's just not you, Dean."

Dean growled in frustration, knowing damn well Sam was right. Dean had never let Sam down in his life and he wasn't about to start now.

"Besides," Sam added a little softer. "If you do, I'll track your sorry ass down myself. You can't leave me here with Dad. I'll kill him." Sam smiled hesitantly at his older brother, hoping he realized Sam's position on this as one of worry instead of signature younger brother annoyance. He was only doing the same thing Dean would do if their positions were reversed.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sammy," Dean admitted reluctantly. "But you've got to let this drop."

Sam face scrunched up in irritation again. "Why can't you just talk to me?" he demanded. "Why can't you just let me help you?"

"If you want to help me, Sam, you'll let this drop."

"Dean, that's not fair," he protested. "If the situation was-"

"Do you trust me?" Dean interrupted, raising his brows in question.

Sam sighed and let his head drop back against the wall. "Yeah, I trust you," he muttered begrudgingly.

"Then you'll let this go, Sam. Just for now," he added at Sam's jerk of disagreement. "Trust me to figure this out."

Sam hesitated, uncertainty flickering behind his eyes. It had already been two years, how long did Dean want him to give him? "I'll give you a week," Sam finally agreed. "One damn week."

"Sammy-" Dean started to protest, stopping quickly at the glare Sam gave him.

"It's been two years, Dean. I'm not going to let you keep hurting yourself because you're too stubborn to let me help you. You've got one week to figure this out, or I'm going to Dad. Or locking you in the closet, whatever the hell works."

"Two weeks," he tried to negotiate. "Give me two weeks."

Sam snorted. "One week. 7 days, man, and then I rat your ass out."

Dean growled his disgruntlement but nodded and released his death grip on Sam's shoulders. "One week," he repeated.

xXx

Since when was his brother such a self assured pain in the ass? He knew that Sam was only trying to help him but he was really backing Dean into a corner more than anything. Now he only had one week to figure things out or Sam was in for a rude awakening, one that Dean didn't want his brother to have any part in.

He took a step back and watched as Sam straightened his shirt and ran a hand through his chestnut hair. He looked more relaxed than he had in years now that he had Dean's word. His usually tense muscles were unknotted and his face was clear, his smile sincere as he glanced up at Dean, catching him staring.

Sam frowned suddenly, brow furrowing. "We cool?" he asked hesitantly.

Dean laughed at his brother's uncertainty. "Yeah," Dean said nodding. "We're cool, man." They were always cool.

Sam's grin returned full force, knocking the breath right out of Dean's chest. "I've got homework then."

"Better get to it then, geek boy," Dean teased, trying to force the air back into his lungs. That was a weird reaction, one he'd never had to deal with before. It was probably because he hadn't really seen Sam smile in two years, he reassured himself. Two years was a long time to go without seeing that Sammy smile.

Sam grinned once more at him before heading off towards their bedroom, even his walk seeming a bit lighter. Dean hadn't realized just how heavily this had weighed on his younger brother the past two years. He'd hidden it a lot better than Dean had ever expected. Maybe a little too well.

Dean frowned. He didn't like Sam having to hide things from him, even if it was to make things easier on him. He didn't realize how hypocritical that was at first and when he did, he just didn't give a damn. He was the older brother and whatever he had to do to keep Sam safe was just fine. As far as Dean was concerned, Sam didn't have that to hide behind.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Today is made of suckage, so I figured I'd post and do my best to salvage the day. :) Miss. Cinnamon is my amazing beta, as always. She is completely made of awesome, kind of the like the Winchesters...so, reviews! xoxo

Sam sighed and let his Calc book fall shut. He'd been trying for nearly three hours to get this done and he just couldn't focus. His mind was still reeling over this afternoon, replaying every word and every look Dean had given him.

It was driving him crazy not knowing what was going on with his brother, not knowing what was hurting him, or how to fix it. And he'd hoped that somewhere, in all the things Dean had said there was a clue. Something, anything that could tip Sam off as to what was going on.

True, he'd agreed to give Dean one more week to fix things himself before Sam turned him in or bullied Dean into giving him the answer, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't keep trying to figure things out on his own. A week was nothing compared to the past two years of torture he'd gone through, or at least it shouldn't be, but to Sam it was worse. He was so close to protecting Dean, to bringing him back to the sarcastic and loving, if not pain in the ass, older brother that he was.

Seven days was a lifetime.

"Sam," Dean called, poking his head in. "I've been calling you for like five minutes man, put down your homework and come eat."

"Yeah, okay," he agreed, turning around to see Dean give him a quick smile and then duck back out the door.

His heart fluttered painfully in his chest, unable to stop the smile that spread across Sam's own face. It was amazing how much one afternoon could change.

Standing up, he cracked his back and headed for the kitchen with a surprisingly light heart. If it wasn't Dean tearing him apart it was Dad, and that usually made dinner unbearable. But for once he didn't mind being pulled away from his homework. Not that he wasn't getting anything done tonight anyway.

Dean was pulling out two sodas when he walked in, the sight of his brother's usually sour face so much more relaxed made his chest tighten and his breath catch in his throat. Dean passed one of the sodas off to him, oblivious to the affect he was having on Sam and took a seat at what passed for the dinner table.

He found himself staring at Dean, searching for any physical clue to add to the mounting pile of nothing. Not a word, not a glance from earlier did anything other then send his body into spastic fits.

Sam sank into the seat next to Dean, scooting his chair a little closer than necessary and ignoring the look of annoyance Dean shot him. He raised a brow, daring Dean to say anything about it and was rewarded with a smirk and a roll of his eyes. Dean could act as annoyed by Sam's proximity as he wanted, but there was no getting around the fact that he liked it.

Satisfied with yet another victory he turned back to find Dad pulling out the chair across from him. Usually Dad sat across from Dean and they talked about the next hunt, or the last hunt, or the hunt before that. Basically they talked shop and Sam tried to stay awake. But tonight he was sitting across from Sam, a pleasant smile gracing his normally stoic face.

He felt Dean stiffen beside him, Dean's leg suddenly pressing insistently against his. Sam felt his face heat up and he quickly lowered it, staring intently at the plate of spaghetti in front of him. He couldn't get over how good it felt to have Dean near him again and touching him out of anything other than fear. Whatever was going on with Dad was nothing compared to that.

xXx

Placing three plates on the table, Dean glanced over his shoulder, half expecting to find Sam lurking behind him like he had this afternoon. Finding a still very much empty kitchen, he frowned and realized that Sam was probably still doing homework and hadn't even heard Dean call him the first three times.

Rolling his eyes, he strolled out of the kitchen and down the hall, glancing nervously at Dad's closed door. He hadn't heard a word from Dad in hours and it was beginning to worry him.

Shrugging off the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, he pushed open the bedroom door, a teasing 'geek boy' on his lips, and froze.

Sam was staring blankly at the text book in front of him, his pencil dangling uselessly from slender fingers. A pang of guilt struck Dean, knowing it was because of him Sam was too stressed to even focus on homework, but he bit his tongue. As much as he wanted Sam to know he trusted him, more than anyone, there were some things Sam just didn't need to know. Some things that were just best left to handle on his own.

Clearing his throat, he called Sam's name again. "I've been calling you for like five minutes man, put down your homework and come eat."

Sam turned halfway in his chair, staring at Dean for a heartbeat. Dean flashed him a quick smile and left before he could say something stupid, barely sticking around to hear Sam's agreement. He was having the strangest reactions to Sam lately, especially after all he'd said today. Who knew what he might say now to make Sam smile again?

Yawning, he pulled open the fridge for some caffeine and froze. He was having major déjà vu. Only he'd been looking for beer and seriously considering slamming his head in the fridge door to numb some of the pain the first time around. Now, he was grinning like an idiot and replaying today over and over in his mind.

He'd burnt his hand at least three times while making dinner tonight and was surprised he'd finished without setting himself or the apartment on fire. He couldn't help it. Dad was late getting home and hadn't bothered him or Sam, simply heading back into his room and shutting the door without so much as a word. Leaving Dean to remember Sam's normally sweet, or irritated face, depending on the day, filled with an intense need.

Sam had been so determined, so dead set on protecting Dean no matter what that meant that it knocked the breath out of him every time. His brother had gone from angry to pleading and back again within the blink of an eye, all the while staring pleadingly at Dean with all the love and affection he'd ever seen.

He knew that Sam was only trying to help like the good brother, or just the good person he was period, but Dean was at a loss. There was only so much he could tell Sam and he wasn't really sure how to return the love and devotion Sam had shown him today. That just wasn't Dean's thing. He could protect Sam and he could reassure Sam over and over again that nothing was his fault, giving Sam love in his own way, but he had no idea how to return it with the same magnitude without turning into a complete chick.

Sam entered the kitchen then, startling him out of his thoughts. He grabbed two sodas and handed one to Sam, his heart skipping a beat when his hand brushed Sam's. He quickly turned away and dropped into his seat at the empty table. Dean knew Sam couldn't tell what he was thinking but it still embarrassed him to know how caught up in this he was. It was all too emotional for him and that was Sam's place. Dean was supposed to be the violent, protective one. Sam the girl. That's just how it had always been.

His brother took the seat next to him like always, moving as close as possible to Dean without actually climbing into his lap. Feigning annoyance, Dean found himself smirking uncontrollably when Sam simply raised a brow in defiance. His little brother was growing up more every day, and not losing his talent for bugging the crap out of Dean one bit.

He popped open the soda and raised it to his mouth, freezing when he felt Dad enter the room. He'd been hoping to make it through dinner with Sam before Dad even came back out. He wanted the two of them together as little as possible.

Sam may have promised him a week, but that didn't mean he wouldn't accidentally let something slip. If Dad noticed his weird behavior Sam might turn defensive or angry and ask him why the hell he didn't notice the changes in Dean as much as he did in Sam. His brother was very clearly irritated by Dad and his seeming lack of interest in his sons. Especially after the last two years. And if Sam and Dean shared anything, it was a temper.

Dean pressed his leg against Sam's protectively as Dad took the seat across from Sam. He swallowed hard and pressed the can back to his lips, doing his best to act normal. Sam wasn't the only one that could blow this.

xXx

The rest of dinner was awkward and quiet, but better than it had been in a long time. Or ever really, if anyone were to ask Sam. Dean sat with his leg pressed to Sam's, shoulders brushing, and never once pulled away. He hadn't said much, but Sam wasn't surprised with Dad sitting across from them. It wasn't like they could have much of a conversation with him around, and Dad wasn't usually very talkative to begin with.

Sam stood, tossing his empty can into the trash and was halfway to the sink with his plate when Dean stepped in front of him. He titled his head in the direction of their room, asking Sam silently to leave and stay put for awhile. He rolled his eyes but relented and handed his plate to Dean. He was on good terms with his brother and he wanted to keep it that way.

As much as he liked sharing a bed with his brother every night, he didn't like the reason behind it. If he could give Dean anything, he wanted to give him security.

His hand was on the door when he heard Dad behind him. Sam glanced over his shoulder and gave Dad a tight smile. Dean wanted him to go to their room and stay put, and he had every intention of doing that. Only Dad apparently didn't.

"Sam, come here for a second," he said, jerking his head in the direction of the living room.

Hesitating a second, Sam nodded. What else was he supposed to do? It was probably about something stupid anyway, a question about a symbol, a heads up on a trip he'd only try to argue his way out of, or another lecture about leaving Dean with the chores. Like Sam actually liked leaving Dean alone when he was like this.

"What's up?" Sam asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He knew he wasn't going to like this conversation and he wanted it done with as soon as possible.

"How was school today, Sam?"

Sam blinked. "What?"

"I asked how your day was," Dad repeated, laughing quietly.

"I, uh, it was fine?" Sam managed, glancing behind him. This felt too weird. Since when did Dad ask about school or anything else involving Sam's life that wasn't a part of his too.

"You don't know?" Dad teased.

Sam laughed. "No, it was good." Today was real good, he thought. He reached down and pinched his arm quickly, wincing at the sharp sting. No, he was definitely awake. 

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked.

"Me?" Sam said, raising a brow. Dad was asking if he was okay? Sam wasn't the one dragging people off to the living room for "pleasant conversation". "I should be asking you the same thing." 

Dad sighed and took a step closer. "I know we haven't talked much lately, but I've been a little preoccupied with your brother."

"You have?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"Yes," Dad went on. "But things are going to change soon, I promise, son."

Sam nodded wordlessly and stared back at Dad. He hadn't thought that Dad had noticed anything about Dean's behavior. Dad hadn't said anything, or done anything that Sam knew of.

Dean didn't even think Dad was paying him any attention. So just what the hell had he been doing?

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, before Sam had the chance to. He turned around at the sound of his brother's icy voice and frowned. What was wrong now? "What are you doing?" Dean repeated, raising an impatient brow.

Sam shook his head and bit back a sigh. It should have been obvious what Dean's problem was the second Sam had heard his tone. He'd given Dean a week and he'd meant it. He wasn't backing out of that now. Not when he had his brother's trust again. Dad had wanted to talk and what else was Sam supposed to do? Avoid Dad until Dean's week was up?

"We're just talking, Dean," Dad said good naturedly, clapping Sam on the shoulder.

Sam glanced at Dad, a little surprised that he'd even answered Dean or disagreed with him. Usually Dad wanted as little to do with him as possible. Suddenly he was caught between the older brother that cared for him and the father that ordered him around. It wasn't exactly a hard choice, but Sam wanted Dean to trust him fully, and right now he was doubting Sam more than ever.

"Sammy, go to bed now," Dean snapped, wrapping his hand tightly around Sam's upper arm and dragging him from Dad.

His arm tingled where Dean's fingers dug in, the usual comforting touch of his brother's hand more than a little disconcerting. What was it that Dean was hiding? He was going to insane lengths to protect a secret that Sam would never hold over him. Sam had practically torn his heart out for Dean this afternoon to make him understand that and still they were stuck here in this pathetic game of tug-of-war with Dad. Still, he couldn't really bring it up in front of Dad, now could he?

"Dude," Sam tried instead, "I'm sixteen-"

"Bed," Dean ordered. He wasn't interested hearing anything Sam had to say apparently. His paranoid mind was made up.

Sam shook his head, "But Dean-"

"Now!" he yelled, jerking Sam to his side.

Startled because he'd never heard his brother lose his cool like that before, and most definitely not with him, he nodded numbly and backed away from Dean, suddenly very eager to be away from either Winchester. A look of apology flashed behind moss green eyes and then was gone as he turned his hardened gaze on Dad.

Their father stared back, unflinching. A silent battle of wills. A soft laugh sounded from Dad and Sam realized that Dean had won. For now at least. And then Dean's angry look was once again focused on Sam. "Bed. Now," he growled dangerously, taking a step towards him.

Sam stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to get the hell out of there before Dean really lost it. This day was not getting better. He'd thought that after the talk they'd had this afternoon Dean would just be straight with him, or more than usual anyway, and that somehow didn't include being jerked around and ordered to bed at ridiculous hours.

He shut the door behind him and changed clothes quickly, glancing over his shoulder now and then as if he expected Dean to come bursting through and continue yelling at him.

Grumbling, he shook those thoughts and climbed into bed.

He wasn't tired and even if he was, he didn't know how he was supposed to sleep worrying about Dean and being angry with him at the same time. Conflicting emotions, but neither meant he'd get any sleep.

xXx

Today had been a pretty rough day for the both of them. Especially for Sam who was trying to sort things out still and do his best to blindly protect his brother. They'd cleared things up as best they could that afternoon, leaving him with that Sammy smile. Then Dad had to go and ruin things for them. Sam was probably in bed and angry, unaffected by any sincere apology Dean could give him.

He pushed the bedroom door open, doing his best to make as little noise as possible in case Sam really was asleep. He wasn't. Sam rolled over the instant the door opened, showing Dean his back.

"Sam," Dean called softly hoping Sam would at least give him the chance to apologize.

Unfortunately, his answer was to tuck an arm underneath his pillow and press his face into it. Dean sighed and cursed himself for not handling the situation better all together. It had been hard enough to smooth things over this afternoon, tonight was going to be a bitch.

He kicked off his shoes and tossed his jacket down on his own bed. Tonight he would be going to Sam. He slid in behind him, throwing an arm tentatively over his brother's waist. Sam jerked slightly and pushed his arm away wordlessly.

Dean ignored him and moved closer, pulling Sam against his chest. "Sammy," he murmured. "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

Sam shrugged and said nothing, this time leaving Dean's arms where they were. His back was stiff and anything but warm against Dean. He was still angry or scared, probably both. If Sam could do anything perfectly it was hold a grudge. Dean felt sorry for anyone who would ever cross Sam in the future, because he only got better at it with age. The stubborn brat.

"I shouldn't have yelled at you. It wasn't your fault; none of this is your fault."

Sam jerked away then, pulling himself up into a sitting position. "Whose fault is it then, Dean?" he demanded, glaring down at him. "Because I can't seem to do anything right."

"No, Sammy," Dean protested, his heart twisting. "It's not you."

"Then who?" he demanded again.

"Not. You."

"Dammit, Dean," Sam swore, kicking the blankets off. "Its not you, that leaves me and -"

"Sam," Dean interrupted quickly, sitting up. "I was afraid you were going to tell, Dad, okay?" he lied. "I know you said you'd give me a week, but I saw you two talking and I thought maybe you'd changed your mind."

Sam narrowed his eyes, waiting for Dean to confess that he was lying about this too. Dean stared back at him, hoping that all Sam saw in his eyes was apologies and sincerity. He huffed a little and then lay back down.

"I said you have a week. I wouldn't lie to you," he grumbled.

Dean winced at the implication of Sam's words and followed suit. "I know," Dean answered truthfully, turning on his side to look at Sam. "It was stupid. I wasn't thinking."

"Obviously. You never think."

He laughed and punched Sam's arm lightly. "Maybe sometimes I just think too much."

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "Maybe."

"We good?" he asked, taking Sam's humor for acceptance, reluctant or not.

"Always," Sam reassured him.

Dean smiled and threw an arm around Sam, pulling him back against his chest. "Get some sleep then."

They lay there for a while, Dean listening to the soft sound of his brother breathing, waiting for it to even off in the tell tale sign of sleep.

"It won't always be this easy," Sam said suddenly, his breath hitching for a moment and then evening out.

Dean frowned. "What won't be?" he asked, distracted by Sam's sudden change in breathing.

"This." He lifted a hand and gestured to them. "I can't keep believing your lies, no matter how much I want to."

"Sam-"

"It's okay," he interrupted. "You have your reasons-but you still only get a week."

"Yeah," Dean snorted. "I know." Sam didn't let up and as tough a spot as that put him in now, he couldn't be any prouder of Sam than he was. And he couldn't feel any stronger than he did now, laying there with Sam and knowing that Sam was willing to fight with him, for him no matter what. 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Von, for being amazingly patient even though I promised this two days ago! And also for reviewing! :D I can't live without the love ya'll! Or the hate, ya know. Whichever it is you feel. Also, I can't promise the quality of this chapter because it was ages ago. lol.

_Cos this is the day that everything changes  
And the world stops turning, running straight,  
Into the break lights, you've come to nothing._

_This is the day that everything changes and your worlds collide  
You know in time you'll wake to find you're a little unbroken_

xXx

Dean woke the next morning to find Sam leaning back against the wall and watching him with a silent understanding that unnerved him. Propping himself up on elbows he returned Sam's gaze warily, suddenly wishing that he'd slept in his own bed last night.

Going to Sam had been his peace offering, a way of reconnecting with Sam in a way they hadn't been connected in the longest time. Morning hadn't factored into that decision in the first place, obviously, or he wouldn't be staring awkwardly at his younger brother as if waiting for him to attack.

"I'm not gonna ask," Sam said in his silence. "What good would it do?"

Dean winced at the helpless tone in Sam's voice. He didn't know how many more times he could go over this with Sam. Each time wore him down a little more until he was ready to

just tell Sam everything.

"Sammy," Dean tried, shaking his head. He was doing this to protect Sam, not hurt him. He'd thought Sam was beginning to understand that.

"Forget it," he said, flipping back the sheets. "I don't want to fight with you anymore. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Dean watched Sam move to his knees, taking Dean's role in running away for the first time in their lives. His chest tightened, seeing how badly all this had affected Sam after all. How blind he'd been to it the past few years.

"Yeah, I'm good, Sammy," Dean assured him. He had a safe and relatively happy Sam-even if he was starting to run-what else did he need?

"Not that good," Sam disagreed. "That's why you have me." He flashed Dean a quick grin, before tackling him to the floor.

The sheets tangled around Dean's legs, making it hard for him to do much more than let Sam pin him to the ground and grin in triumph. Sam sat on his knees, arms boxing him in.

"The hell, Sam?" Dean half yelled, his breath still short from hitting the ground so hard. What had gotten into him? Two seconds ago the kid had been staring holes in Dean while he slept. Now he wanted to wrestle?

Sam laughed and shook his bangs from his eyes. "Just glad you're coming back. Even if it isn't for another week," he added, not giving Dean the chance to argue he hadn't been gone in the first place.

He rolled off his brother and made a dash for the bathroom before Dean could retaliate, a quick glimpse of pink tongue the last thing Dean saw before the door slammed shut.

Laughing Dean dropped his head back to the floor. Well, that wasn't exactly the reaction he was expecting from Sam, but he wasn't about to complain at his brother's change in attitude. It beat the hell out of a sullen and pouting Sam.

Just about anything beat the hell out of that, really.

Dean stared up at the ceiling, grinning stupidly to himself. Going to Sam had definitely been one of his better ideas.

In a much better mood than he'd been in for as long as he could remember, Dean managed to disentangle his legs from the sheets and change clothes before Sam finished up in the bathroom. Passing him in the doorway, Dean caught Sam around the waist and pulled him in for a quick hug.

"Thanks, Sammy," he said as he released his younger brother. "Things are going to change."

The bright flash of Sam's smile almost made Dean believe it too, a warm feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. He should have known it wouldn't last though, managing to hold onto his denial long enough to make it through his bathroom routine and out the front door, when reality hit him hard.

Dean stopped, his hands clenching at his sides. Last night had been spent with Sam, which mean tonight was only going to be that much worse. And the day after, and the day after, and the day after that…

He felt himself sway, and quickly grabbed for the railing as his knees buckled. There was so much to do, so much he didn't know. And so God damn much he didn't want to tell Sam. It was going to change everything, he could feel it as sure as he could feel the shift between himself and Sam. Everything he'd fought to keep a secret was going to come crashing down around him with the rest of his life.

He had a week to change things, to figure out what he'd been struggling with for two years, and knowing Sam was on his side only made it that much harder.

xXx

Sam flushed a deep pink, glad Dean hadn't stuck around long enough to notice it, the bathroom door shutting softly behind him. Sam glanced over his shoulder on impulse, his heart thundering in his ears. Tackling Dean had been his way of lightening the mood, realizing the instant Dean's eyes met Sam's that he was already beginning to feel backed into a corner. He hadn't expected Dean to reciprocate with a show of affection all his own.

If anything he'd expected a grin from Dean, maybe even a soft thanks. Definitely not a thanks _and_ a hug. That was just too much affection for someone like Dean. He grinned and shook his head. Dean had a week to make things right before Sam really got involved, but if this was how that week was gonna be, with affectionate hugs and promises, he was pretty sure

he'd manage somehow.

He quickly dressed for school and grabbed his books from the small desk in the corner of the room. Sam had been pushing his luck, waiting for Dean to get up that morning. He'd been awake since five, watching his brother sleep for a good hour and a half before he'd even begun to stir.

Sam wasn't going anywhere until Dean got up though, feeling that last night wasn't quite resolved. And if the reaction Sam had gotten before he'd tackled Dean was any indication, then last night hadn't resolved much of anything.

There was still uncertainty and the feeling of pressure on Sam's part, but this morning had helped. Even if it was just a bit.

It had left him with less then twenty minutes to get to class now though, and being late again would mean a Saturday work detail, but if that's all it would cost him to hug Dean, then he could give up a Saturday easy. It's not like he'd be doing anything other than torturing himself or hovering over Dean until he took it upon himself to torture Sam in return.

No, Saturday work detail was starting to look pretty good.

He gave Dad a brief wave as he passed him in the hallway, not bothering to stop. Dad much like Dean was usually someone to avoid until they'd had their coffee-this morning being the exception for his brother. He wasn't about to test that theory on Dad.

Sam locked the front door behind him and jogged down the steps. He was halfway across the lot when he heard their door open again. Sam turned and glanced up, wondering if he'd forgotten something and saw Dean take a step out. Grinning, he headed back towards the stairs and stopped suddenly as the grin faded from Dean's face.

He watched the panic start to sink in, Dean's lips drawing into a tight thin line. Sam hesitated, wanting more than anything to race back up the steps and do his best to comfort Dean. But in the end, he turned and continued on his way to school. He knew better, deep down he knew. Dean was worrying about the deadline Sam had given him, his earlier happiness gone with Sam's absence. His presence now would only make things worse, and that was the last thing he wanted to do with everything he'd laid on Dean's shoulders the other day.

He sighed heavily and fisted his hands at his sides. There was nothing else he could do anyway. He'd done his best to get Dean to confess, to give him some small task that would make things easier on Dean. Instead he was walking away again, the knowledge that his helping, had really only made matters worse.


End file.
